


Some Relationships Just Don't Work Out

by Apikale



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, cut me some slack, set after "Worked Day"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apikale/pseuds/Apikale
Summary: Post "Worked Day."  Balthazar decides to help Vinnie get back in shape.





	Some Relationships Just Don't Work Out

_“How can you be so out of shape?  You're wearing a track suit!”_

_“Well, you're wearing a top hat!  How can you be so... I don't know, out of rabbits?”_

Vinnie knew it wasn't the greatest comeback, but anything that kept his partner from issuing another lecture was a win in his book.  Whether it had to do with his physical condition, how loud he played his music, the neatness of his handwriting, or the cleanliness of the dingy office they had converted into an apartment, Cavendish always seemed able to find some point of criticism on Vinnie's part.  Every week, it seemed, it was something different.

            But it had been three days now since they had bickered on that particular subject, and so far, Cavendish had largely left the matter alone.  Maybe it was because they had managed to botch a total of three more missions within those three days, but Vinnie's slow running speed hadn't been commented on since the warehouse fiasco.

            Cavendish was already in bed, fast asleep.  Mr. Block probably didn't have the patience to assign them any more missions for at least another twelve hours or so.

            Here was Vinnie's chance to lounge around in his underwear, chow down on raw cookie dough, and read vintage comic books the world of 2175 had long since forgotten about until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

            It was probably around 4 a.m. that he finally conked out.

_Monday_

            It was probably around 5 a.m. that he awoke to Cavendish's persistent shaking.

            “Up up up, my good fellow!  Time to seize the day!”

            Vinnie groaned and pulled the covers up over his head.  Cavendish yanked them down again.

            “Time is wasting!”

            “What, Mr. Block sent us an assignment at this hour?” Vinnie complained skeptically.

            “No, but it's only a matter of time before he does.”

            “Then that's time that I could spend sleeping!” Vinnie protested, rolling over.

            Cavendish grabbed Vinnie's arm and pulled him so he was sitting up.  “Or it's time that you could spend taking a leaf out of my book and making an effort for once to look after your own health!  You never know when failure to maintain it could compromise a mission!”

            Seeing that he wasn't going to win this argument, Vinnie climbed out of bed and rubbed his eyes.  “So what did you have in mind?”

            Cavendish beamed.  “I'm glad that you asked!  We'll start with something simple and universal—a morning jog!”  Indeed, he had abandoned his usual attire in favor of a white tank top and loose shorts.  Even the top hat was gone, replaced with a stopwatch around his neck.

            Vinnie almost cursed in front of his partner, but stopped.  He didn't get to see them very often, thanks to the trousers, but Cavendish's legs were toned into a pleasing shape, even if they were eerily pale from never being exposed to the sun.  Did he run every morning and Vinnie just slept through it?  Maybe, if he could lag just a couple paces behind Cavendish, Vinnie could inspect those muscles more thoroughly in the morning sunlight.

            That might make it worth his while.

            “Yeah yeah, all right, all right.”

            “There's the spirit!  We can start small, just half a mile around the block, won't even take us ten minutes.  Then we can work on improving our time, increasing endurance...”

            “Can we just go already?”  Vinnie fumbled for his T-shirt and shorts.

            “We most certainly can!”  Cavendish took off out the door.

            Vinnie had to throw on his shoes without any socks in order to catch up in time.  He prayed he wouldn't get blisters, lest that prompt yet more nagging from Cavendish.  But at least he caught up with the taller man, who started down a side street filled with window displays of all kinds.

            “Hey... it's that lamp!” Vinnie exclaimed as they passed the lava lamp that had captivated him just a few days prior.

            “Focus, Dakota, let's not lose momentum!”

            Vinnie complied for about thirty seconds.  “Hey, a dollar!”  He paused to retrieve the currency from the storm drain in which it was lodged.

            “Did you not hear what I just said?”  Cavendish jogged in place, refusing to stop just because his partner had.

            “Hey, I'll split it with you.”

            “That's not the point, I—”

            “Suit yourself.”  Vinnie pocketed the dollar.

            “Oh for heaven's sake,” Cavendish muttered.  “Move along!”

            “Coming!”

            They ran for another three minutes or so, then Vinnie noticed a marvelous scent wafting through the morning air.  He sniffed the wind, inhaling a blend of cinnamon, chocolate, coffee, roasted nuts...

            “Hey, I think that new doughnut shop's finally open!”  He cut through an alleyway to the street on the other side, forcing Cavendish to follow him.

            “Aside from defeating the purpose of running in the first place,” Cavendish scolded, “it's far too early in the morning.  There's no way that shop is open!”

            “Welcome to our shop's grand opening!”  Both men had to skid to a halt as a girl who looked a little like a college-aged Savannah (except that she was smiling) stepped out onto the sidewalk.  “Since you're our first customers, treat yourselves to a box of complimentary doughnuts!”  She gestured for them to enter.  Vinnie complied willingly, while Cavendish sauntered reluctantly after him.

            “If I buy a second box, can you mark them down for me because they're all full of holes?”

            The girl giggled as she went behind the counter and pulled out a box of glazed doughnut holes.  She picked up a pastry with chocolate sprinkles and plugged its center with one.  “There... all fixed!”  She tossed her hair as she scribbled something on the side of the box.  “Here... on me!”

            “Thanks, miss!”

            “Anytime!  Now what flavors did you want?”

            Armed with the doughnut holes in addition to three jellies, two bear claws, four sprinkles, two glazed, and one Boston cream, Vinnie leaned against the brick wall outside the shop, munching happily away.

            “This was fun!  We should do this again sometime!” he said as he licked powdered sugar off his little finger.

            “I think jogging is out as a means of exercise,” Cavendish muttered.  He blinked.  “What's that on your hand?”

            Vinnie looked.  Apparently, some of the ink from the girl's message had worn off onto his palm, but it was still clear enough to read:

 

_(804)555-6282_

_CALL ME!_

_—Diana_

            “Hey, nice!”  Vinnie was pretty sure she was too young for him, but it was quite flattering nevertheless.

            “Jogging is definitely out,” Cavendish sighed bitterly.

 

 

_Tuesday_

 

 

            “Rise and shine!” Cavendish called out cheerfully.

            “Oh come on, you said no more jogging!”  At least today he'd let Vinnie sleep until 7, most likely because yesterday had involved not one but two thwarted missions, and Cavendish had been so put out that he spent a good chunk of the night fuming.

            “Right, I did!  I've come up with an alternative!”  This time, Cavendish had a gym bag slung over his shoulder.  “Weight training!  Its known benefits include increased muscular mass, lowered blood pressure, and improved cardiovascular health!”

            “That last one shouldn't be a problem for you, seeing as you don't _have_ a heart!”  Vinnie frowned.  “Or weights, for that matter.  Kind of hard to weight train without any weights.”

            “You could start by taking your laundry to the laundromat, I'm sure that weighs a ton by now!”

            “Fine fine, I'll kill two birds with one stone,” Vinnie conceded.  He slung his laundry bag over his shoulder.

            Cavendish wouldn't let Vinnie off that easily.  “You'll need to work your way up to lifting that sort of mass!” he declared.  “So until then, I've purchased us a membership at a gymnasium.  A twenty-four-hour gymnasium, I might add, so we can always work around our pistachio schedule!”  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of cards, and handed one to Vinnie.

            “A _family_ membership?” Vinnie inquired as he studied the pass.

            Cavendish blushed.  “It was, well, you see it was cheaper to register as a couple...” he explained.  “And they weren't especially insistent on documentation of any, um, legal arrangements we might...”  He couldn't finish.

            Vinnie laughed.  “It's okay, 'dear'!”  He slung an arm around Cavendish's shoulder and batted his eyes.  Cavendish wriggled away.

            “Yes, um, all right then!” he said, and the next thing Vinnie knew, they were in the locker room and Cavendish was throwing him a T-shirt emblazoned with the gym's logo.

            “Hey thanks, I was running out of clean shirts... do the membership freebies include underwear too?”

            Surprisingly, Cavendish declined the invitation to comment again on Vinnie's hygiene.  “Now, our locker combination is 2-1-4-0,” he explained as he turned the numbers to their correct positions.  “Everything we don't need for weightlifting can be stowed in here for safekeeping.”  He put his grappling hook and the Temporal Transporter inside.

            Vinnie wondered to himself how safe it really was to leave the Temporal Transporter unattended like that, but given their recent especially bad luck, it was probably a better bet than risking it getting smashed by some thousand-pound barbell.  Were those a real thing in weightlifting, or were they just in cartoons?  The gym at the Academy had had a weight room, but Vinnie had avoided it like the plague.  Actually, no, not like the plague, since he had been to medieval Europe once...

            “Focus!”

            Cavendish's admonishment snapped Vinnie back to the present (heh).  “Sure thing, 'honey'!”

            This, at least, prompted that redness in Cavendish's cheeks that had been so endearing earlier.  “The... the weight room is down this hallway,” he explained as he led the way.  Again he was wearing those same shorts as yesterday.  Did he do that on purpose to get Vinnie to follow?

            Probably not, but it was working.

            “We'll begin with bench presses,” Cavendish said as he gestured towards the appropriate equipment.  “We'll perform four sets each of eight repetitions.  Here, I'll go first, and you can spot me.”

            Vinnie couldn't resist.  “There you are!”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “I spotted you!”

            Cavendish rolled his eyes.  “I meant, watch me as a safety precaution.  Make sure I don't get trapped under the bar.”  He assumed the supine position underneath the barbell—apparently they were a real thing—and motioned for Vinnie to stand behind him.  “Hands on the bar—that's it—but I'll be doing the lifting.  Now, one... two... three... four... five... _six_... _seven_... eight!”  He panted and returned the barbell to its rack.  “Now it's your turn.”

            Vinnie took his spot.

            “Very good... as before, there's one... two... _what the devil_?” he gasped as Vinnie let go of the bar and slid off the bench, pulling Cavendish down with the weight still in his hands.

            “Whoops, sorry, I thought you had it!” Vinnie explained as Cavendish glared at him from where he had landed.

            “Looks like weight training with you is unsafe,” Cavendish mumbled.

 

 

_Wednesday_

 

 

            “Basketball,” Cavendish stated simply as they entered through a pair of double doors.  “Since other forms of exercise are clearly not suited to you, perhaps there is a sport you would like to pick up.”

            It was fairly late in the evening, so they had the court to themselves.  Vinnie picked up an orange ball and started dribbling idly.  At least this time, Cavendish hadn't dragged him out of bed at the buttcrack of dawn, so maybe Vinnie could humor him a little bit.

            “Come now, one-on-one.”  Cavendish lunged for the ball and easily snatched it away.  “You'll have to make an effort to get it back from me!” he called as he dribbled it towards the opposite end of the court and took aim.  “There!  From the three-point line!  Better work to catch up!”

            Vinnie silently cursed Cavendish for making him run, but complied the best he could.  Nevertheless, he couldn't easily get the ball away from his partner, and Cavendish had scored two more baskets when they were interrupted by the doors creaking open.

            “Oh hey there!  Sorry guys, mind if I join you?”  It was a brunette preteen boy who looked oddly familiar, but Vinnie couldn't quite place the face.

            “Isn't it a little late for you to be in here on a school night, kid?” Vinnie inquired.

            “Yeah, little mishap with the local bus schedule... now I have to wait for my mom to come pick me up, and the gym seemed like the safest place to wait,” the boy explained.  “Can I play too?”

            “Sure, kid!”

            “The more the merrier, I suppose,” Cavendish assented.

            “Thanks, sir, I'll be on your team!”  The boy opened his arms wide so Cavendish could pass him the ball.

            Yet just as Cavendish was about to throw it, a light overhead fizzled out and crashed to the floor.  Stunned, he jerked around and let go of the ball as he did so.

            It soared through the air and dropped through the hoop behind him.

            “Point for me!” Vinnie declared triumphantly.

            Cavendish's eyebrows converged.  “Oh come now, that doesn't—”

            The boy helpfully interjected, “Actually, according to the rules of basketball, I think—”

            “Oh very well!  A lucky break for you, Dakota, but the rest of the game is ours!”  Cavendish dribbled the ball to the opposite end of the court and took aim once more, a lot of frustrated force causing it to ricochet off the backboard...

            ...and fly clear across the gym to the other basket.

            “Wow, nice shot!” the boy complimented Vinnie.

            “You didn't even touch the ball!” Cavendish protested.

            “Okay, fine, I'll throw this one!” Vinnie offered, and took his shot.

            “There, see, your form is all wrong, you can't possibly expect to sink that one... except... you... did...” Cavendish said as the ball whooshed through the net, again, hit the floor, and somehow maintained enough momentum to bounce sufficiently high as to fall through again.

            “How is that possible?” Cavendish demanded.

            “Yeah, sorry, I should've warned you,” the kid lamented, as though he had anything to do with it.

            One burst overhead pipe, a malfunctioning vending machine, a set of collapsed bleachers, a stray bat from outside, a stray owl looking to eat the stray bat from outside, and two improperly tied shoelaces later, Vinnie was declared the victor of the match.

            “Hey, I'm liking this kind of exercise!” he said as the kid's mother finally arrived to take him home.

            “You didn't exercise at all!” Cavendish pointed out.

            “Precisely why I like it!”

            “And that's precisely why we need to find something else.”  Cavendish rubbed his temples.

 

 

_Thursday_

            Tennis was no better.

            “Love-love!” Cavendish called out as he served.

            “Love you too!” Vinnie called back as the ball landed in his court.  No matter how cheesy the line, it was always worth his while to see that flustered look on Cavendish's face.

            “Quiet,” Cavendish answered lamely.

            “Okay, fine, I'll cut it with the 'racket'!”

 

 

_Friday_

 

 

            Considering his poor cooperation throughout the week, Vinnie was surprised that on Friday he was treated to the sight of Cavendish without a shirt.

            Yes, he had been told beforehand they were going swimming, but somehow he had just assumed Cavendish's suit would be one of those weird Victorian outfits, the striped ones that looked a little like prison uniforms.  Not a pair of ordinary trunks almost identical to Vinnie's own.

            “You _can_ swim, right?” Cavendish asked wearily.  “This time of night there's no lifeguard on duty, so it's swim at our own risk.”

            Vinnie nodded as they entered the facility.  It wasn't Olympic-sized or anything, but it was big enough to swim laps, and it came with a diving board and even a hot tub.  It was glassed in, so they could see the moon and stars above them, and warm yellow lights under the water illuminated the pool nicely.

            “As soon as we get accustomed to the water, we'll start with two lengths of the forward crawl, then two backstroke,” Cavendish recited as he descended the stairs at the shallow end.  He winced with every inch deeper he got; the water must have been cold.

            “You know, it's probably best to just get it over with,” Vinnie suggested.

            “How do you mean?”

            “I mean like... CANNONBALL!” Vinnie yelled as he jumped in, arms wrapped around his knees, displacing so much water that the waves rocked the entire pool.  He shook the water out of his hair as he stood up.

            Cavendish crossed his arms over his chest, and only then did Vinnie realize that he had splashed his partner so he was drenched all over.

            “Oops... are you used to the water yet?” Vinnie asked apologetically.

            Cavendish paused.  “Strangely... yes!”

            Vinnie grinned and splashed Cavendish playfully.  “Well, then what are we waiting for?”

            A curious smile crossed Cavendish's face.  “Sweet, sweet revenge!” he replied, slicing the water with his hand just so that it hit Vinnie square in the chest.

            Vinnie retaliated by grabbing Cavendish's ankle in an attempt to drag him under, but the taller man was surprisingly steadfast in his position.  Indeed, he managed to resist several attempts until Vinnie finally had to come up for air, at which point Cavendish pushed on the back of his partner's legs, forcing him back under.

            When Vinnie emerged again, he lunged for Cavendish, this time succeeding in pushing him underwater.  Vinnie swam away, enticing Cavendish to chase him up the nearest ladder.

            “No running on the pool deck!” Cavendish warned.  “It says so right on that sign!”

            Vinnie dashed backwards anyway.  “Yeah, but you said so yourself, there's no lifeguard, and when the cat's away, the mice will play!”

            Cavendish ran after him.  “You haven't met this cat yet!”

            Vinnie darted around the edge of the water, once, twice, three times around the pool, Cavendish just behind him, until finally the latter caught up with the former just next to the deep end and pushed him in, not even caring that Vinnie dragged him in as well.

            Suddenly, Cavendish made for the edge and grabbed it, suspending himself by his arms on the cement.  “Vincent... what the devil are we doing?”

            “We're... swimming, I guess?”  Vinnie frowned.  “And I guess running a bit, too?”

            “That's the most you've run voluntarily all week!”

            “Ha, I guess you're right!”  He chuckled.  “So glad there's no lifeguard on duty!”

            “There's no order.  No rhyme or reason to anything we're doing.”

            “Nope!”  Vinnie climbed out of the water and did the silliest dive he could for emphasis.  “There's already a million and one rules for everything we do at the Bureau.  Why make more rules for ourselves?”

            “Because if we don't, we'll forget the rules we have!”

            “Is that a bad thing?”

            “Yes!” Cavendish cried.  “There are certain rules I myself have trouble abiding by.”

            Now here was an interesting development.  “What kind of rules?”

            Cavendish put a hand over his mouth.  “Rules like... ah... rules about not... spoiling the endings of movies in time periods when they haven't yet been released!”

            “Oh, really?” Vinnie inquired.  Cavendish turned away.  “Look... if it'll make you happy, I'll swim those laps you asked me to.  Forward crawl, then backstroke, right?”

            Cavendish nodded.  “I'll swim next to you,” he offered.

            And so he did.  Forward crawl, backstroke, butterfly, sidestroke, breaststroke, elementary back.  It was all going quite well until Vinnie recoiled in pain.  “Cramp...” he admitted, embarrassed.

            “Have you eaten in the last hour?” Cavendish asked.

            “Pretty sure that's an old wives' tale,” Dakota contradicted him.  He looked at the clock.  “And no, no I haven't.  We've been here longer than that.”

            “By Jove, you're right!  I'm terribly sorry to wear you out.  Erm... would a stint in the hot tub relax it away?”

            “Maybe.”  Vinnie let Cavendish help him out of the pool and into the tub.  Cavendish turned on the jets and climbed in next to him.

            “You've earned it,” Cavendish said.  He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.

            “So about these 'rules',” Vinnie started, knowing he was pushing his luck a bit.  “It can't just be movies.  So what else?”

            “Oh you know... personal conduct and whatnot.”  Cavendish shifted so he was now on the opposite side of the hot tub from Vinnie.  Even through the bubbles generated by the jets, Vinnie had a chance to properly study and appreciate Cavendish's physique.  Clearly, with or without Vinnie, one way or another, Cavendish had been working out on his own time.

            Did it get lonely?

            Had what Vinnie had taken for micromanagement actually been an earnest desire for company?

            “Hey, your conduct seems just fine to me,” Vinnie assured him.  “Your tendency to bark at me notwithstanding.  There have been plenty of times when I would've cussed out Mr. Block if I were you, but you always held your tongue.  That's pretty impressive.”

            “It's not easy,” Cavendish admitted.  “His assignments occupy so much of our time, but he never seems to appreciate it.”

            “Hey, we're time travelers.  We've got all the time in the world.”  Vinnie leaned in closer.  “And you know... what we do with _our_ time is _our_ business.”

            Cavendish looked away.

            “Look... I know I haven't exactly acted appreciative either,” Vinnie confessed.  “But you've really made an effort every day this week to help me, and while I can't say I appreciate being forced to exercise... at all... I do appreciate the fact that you care.  I really do.”  He reached out under the water and placed a hand on Cavendish's knee.  Cavendish jolted upright and gently lifted it off.

            “I'm... I'm sorry,” he whispered.  “But this is exactly the sort of thing I meant.”

            “I still don't understand.”  Vinnie felt cautiously hopeful, as though the only possible outcomes now were either cathartic satisfaction or bitter rejection.

            Cavendish stood up, and looked as though he were about to leave, but instead he sat back down again, this time right next to Vinnie.

            He put his arm around him.

            “There's... there's no lifeguard.”

            “Yeah, I know, we've established that.”

            “And... and what was it you said?  'When the cat's away, the mice will play'?”

            “I guess so?”

            “So this is our time, then.  Time... to break the rules.  While we still have the chance.”

            Vinnie nodded solemnly.  He placed a hand on Cavendish's cheek, and Cavendish leaned in.

            The kiss was brief, tense, as though Cavendish still expected Mr. Block to pop up from behind a chair or something.  But furtive as it was, it was also real, honest.  A kiss that said, _Whether I can have this or not, let it at least be known that I want it._

            After that, Cavendish and Vinnie climbed out of the hot tub.  They changed and drove back to the apartment without saying a word, and went to sleep in separate beds.

            Maybe there would be another assignment tomorrow, maybe there wouldn't.  It was almost certain that in the former case, they would be unsuccessful.

            But as for tonight, they had one victory on their side.

 

 

_Saturday_

            “Up and at 'em!” Vinnie called merrily, pleased at the chance to give Cavendish a taste of his own medicine.

            “Do we have a new assignment?” asked Cavendish, not quite as groggily as Vinnie had sort of hoped.

            “Not yet.  I thought we could give jogging another shot.  Only, not to the doughnut shop this time.”

            “Where did you have in mind?”

            “The animal shelter three blocks over.”

            Cavendish frowned, puzzled.  “The terms of our lease don't allow for pets.”

            “Just dogs and cats,” Vinnie corrected.

            “Well, what else is there?”

            “This week proved we've had enough of me being out of shape,” Vinnie explained.  “Now let's address the fact that you're still out of rabbits.”


End file.
